


Marks

by queenhomeslice



Series: Soul Marks [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Chubby Reader, Curvy Reader, F/M, King Noctis Lucis Caelum, Professional Photographer Prompto Argentum, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, fat reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: Famous photographer Prompto Argentum is still looking for his soulmate
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Reader
Series: Soul Marks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631761
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	Marks

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own the rights to FF in any way.

Prompto Argentum, official photographer for the Crown of Lucis, sits in the overcrowded airport, pressed into designer jeans and an oversized sweater, state-of-the-art camera equipment in his carry-on luxury duffel bags on the chair to his right. He’s flipping through a photography magazine, vanilla latte long gone as he waits patiently for his flight to board. He's over an hour early, as he always is—it would never do for someone of his status to be late, and Ignis Scientia would never let him be anything but punctual—he was his ride this morning, after all. Prompto Argentum doesn’t have to take cabs, not if King Noctis has anything to say about it. Prompto smiles to himself as he thinks of his best friend, his liege. So petulant, so _lazy_ —he can’t even be bothered to take a vacation to another country himself. Instead, he sends his personal photographer to take pictures worthy of hanging in museums so he can see what Niflheim looks like without having to lift a finger. (He won’t even lift a finger to scroll through pictures on Prompto’s camera. Prompto will have to do that for Noctis, the _brat_.) 

Prompto vaguely registers a few giggling ladies, some not-so-subtle snaps of cell phone cameras—he's used to the attention, but he still blushes, a little. But it’s useless to even entertain the thought of humoring his adoring fans. For years, he’s been on the search for the elusive girl whose name is burned like a brand on his wrist. Prompto had gotten a proper tattoo around her name—he's techy, so it’s a barcode, with the thick black lines extending up his arm and ending in squares of digital circuits, all up around his elbow. He hopes his soulmate likes photography, or at least _his_ photography—which, he guesses, is kind of a silly question. It’s to be expected, right? Prompto sighs and scratches at his goatee. He’s thirty-five—he doesn’t understand why he hasn’t found her yet. When the name had appeared on his wrist in high school, he was so certain that it was going to be _Noctis,_ but Prompto understands that maybe, you can have two soulmates. Noctis is one of them. The other, as far as he knows, has either yet to be born— _oh gods, please don’t let me turn in Hugh Hefner_ , he thinks—or lives somewhere other than the crown city. 

The airport intercom buzzes into life, causing Prompto to look up from his magazine. The citizen paparazzi gasp and take more pictures, now that his face is looking around. A voice from the drywall heavens calls out, _"____________ _____________, please report to Gate A-12 for immediate boarding. Ten minutes to take off, this is the final call for ____________ ___________, please report to Gate A-12 for immediate boarding.”_

Prompto _feels_ his stomach drop as the intercom goes silent. He looks at his gate—A-10. The other gate is just across from him. He swallows thickly as time seems to slow down. He mechanically rolls up the magazine as he stands, fumbling for his camera bags without looking as his eyes burn holes in the idle passengers at the other gate. Shouldering his carry-ons, he starts to tentatively step forward. 

_Then_ he sees her coming, pushing past the throngs of half-asleep travelers—running, red-faced, heavy purse and shoulder bag flapping, feet slapping the bright white linoleum, breathless pants and calls of “Fuck! I’m here!” Her hair is slipping from its braid, and she’s waving her ticket in the air as the attendant at the boarding line rolls her eyes, tears off part of her ticket stub, and radios to her colleagues that the last passenger is finally on board. 

He doesn’t get to register more than her approximate height, hair color, the sound of her voice, and how deliciously curvy she is before she’s disappearing down the tunnel. Prompto shrieks as he crosses the wide avenue to the other gate. He doesn’t know where she’s going, but he’s been looking for her all his life. Niflheim will have to wait. He bolts to the ticket counter and slaps his black credit card in front of the attendant, begging for a seat on whatever plane is about to leave. 


End file.
